


In Cervesio Felicitas

by AriRashkae



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, season 15 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 23:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11977023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriRashkae/pseuds/AriRashkae
Summary: In beer there is happiness.In which Grif is far more perceptive than he lets on, and Locus is the kind of asshole that would fit right in with everyone





	In Cervesio Felicitas

Grif rounded the massive boulder behind Red Base and stopped. Here was a good spot: close enough to hear any explosions, but out of sight of anyone. He sat down with a contented sigh, resting his back against it. The six-pack of beer he'd snagged from the fridge clinked softly.

"I know you're there."

Silence answered him, emphasized by the rustle of the evening breeze through the grass.

"Dude, give it up and come have a damn beer."

The air shimmered, rippling back as Locus deactivated his armor's cloak, ten feet from where Grif had settled.

" 'Bout time." Grif popped the top of one of the bottles, the quiet hiss of carbonation music to his ears. He looked up at the mercenary still standing over him. "You got somewhere to be?"

"Not ... at the moment."

"Good." Grif gestured to the ground next to him. "Then you can sit and have a drink with me."

Locus tilted his head. "Why?"

"Because beer is proof God loves us and wants us to be happy, and I'm getting a crick in my neck staring up at you. Seriously, what did they put in the water where you grew up?" He took a swig and pointed again. "So park it and drink."

If someone had told him a year, hell, even a few _months_ ago that he'd be ordering around one of the deadliest people in the galaxy as if he was just another member of the team, Grif would had laughed in their face and told them to lay off whatever they had been eating.

Yet, here they were, mercenary and Sim Trooper, on a nearly empty moon, with a six pack of beer and nothing else to do except watch the sun go down and the stars come out.

Slowly, Locus approached and sat, keeping a careful distance between the two of them. He reached for his helmet, hesitating.

He's skittish, Grif realized, watching the mercenary steel himself before releasing the seals and removing his helmet. He almost laughed at the thought that _Locus_ would have reason to be afraid of _him_. Then again, Grif could raise the alarm and send everyone flying out here at Warp 5, so maybe it wasn't that unreasonable. Wordlessly, he opened another bottle and held it out.

"How did you know I was here?" Locus asked, taking the bottle and sitting back.

"I'm psychic." He snickered at the disapproving look he got. "The ship's cloaking doesn't completely hide reentry burn. And you're a melodramatic asshole with the best of them. So I played a hunch."

"And if your hunch had been wrong?"

"Dude, _beer_.“

They sat quietly for several minutes, Grif finishing the one bottle and opening a second, while Locus just picked at the label of his. Finally, Grif couldn't stand the silence any more.

"So Wash made a full recovery." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Locus' shoulders drop slightly in relief. "Not that anyone knows how he got to the hospital or anything. Apparently Dr. Grey scared him into healing or something, because the scars are almost impossible to find, and his voice is just a little raspy now." He took another swig of beer and waited.

Locus peeled off a bit more of the paper and let it flutter away on the breeze. "Good. That... that's good."

Fuck, this guy was a great conversationalist. Grif kept going. "The UNSC is privately grateful as fuck, but publicly all they did was issue a press release clearing our names or some bullshit. At, like three in the morning or some bullshit, so most of the major news didn’t bother running it right away. Dylan's story did a better job. Good enough that it has to back off the pressure on Chorus a bit."

Grif was rambling now, but Locus seemed to be listening. "The blockade's lifted, but there are still ships there, so mostly all _that_ means is Chorus can get supplies in without using smugglers. After they pass _inspection_ , of course." He shrugged. "Kimball's still pissed as hell, but I guess the diplomat there got shitcanned for being the second biggest douche in the universe, so they're sending out someone new."

Locus nodded. "The UNSC won't forget the blow to their pride easily, but Gen- _President_ Kimball is in a better position now that the truth has come to light." He slid one fingernail under the label absently, the holographic pineapple logo reflecting the dying light.

"You know, it works better if you drink it."

Locus flinched a little and stared at the beer, as if just now realizing he was holding it. He took a swallow, before staring off into the distance again. Grif almost threw up his hands, but that would have spilled the beer.

"Geez, is 'brooding asshole' something they teach in Basic, or did you learn it out in the field? 'Cuz I think I must have slept in that day."

That earned him a ghost of something that might, possibly, with enough time, become a smile. "Occupational hazard." Locus took another swallow before gesturing behind them. "How are..." He trailed off, his expression uncertain.

Grif understood anyway. "Same bullshit, different day. Sarge is nuts, Donut's annoying, Simmons is a nerd--" _That_ got an actual smirk. "Shut up. Simmons is a nerd, Carolina... is Carolina, Lopez is--" He stopped in horror. Locus tilted his head inquisitively.

"We forgot Lopez," Grif whispered. "Holy shit."

"From what I understood, your robot might...appreciate the solitude."

Grif shot him a quelling look. "Don't give me that 'he's just a machine' crap. Lopez is part of the team, too." He downed half the bottle. "Fuck. Now Sarge is going to want to mount a 'rescue mission' or some bullshit. Maybe I can get away with just telling Carolina...," he mused.

"Good luck with that." 

For a few more minutes, they sat in silence, watching twilight give way to night.

“Thanks, by the way. Meant to say that earlier.”

Locus gave him an uncomprehending look. Grif gestured with his beer.

“Look, we are the last people you should have been coming anywhere near. Except maybe Chorus. But you found Lopez, you came and got me, and we busted everyone out and saved the day. Yay team. 

“But if you hadn’t,” he continued, “I would have stayed here, talking to me, myself, and I, Temple probably would have pulled off his bullshit plan and destroyed the Earth in the process, and the UNSC would have flattened Chorus in retaliation faster than you could say ‘glassed,’ which would have sucked for everyone. Might even have set off the Insurrectionists again all over the place. So, thanks.”

Locus just nodded, seemingly taken aback by the naked gratitude. “That’s not-- I wasn’t looking for--” He finished his beer and stood, retrieving his helmet.

Grif shrugged. "Whatever. Hey, what were you _really_ doing here? 'Cuz I know you didn't come here just to shoot the shit and have a beer."

Locus shrugged. "Just taking care of a few things." He secured his helmet and melted into the night.

Grif stopped himself mid-nod and scrambled to his feet. "Wait, _what_ things? Goddammit, Locus, get back here!"

Once again, he was answered only by silence. Grif swore before scooping up the bottles and stomping back to base.

He dumped the pack on the counter and snagged a third beer for himself. Halfway through the bottle, he choked, sending the liquid spraying out his nose.

Lined up neatly on the table were the volleyball 'teams' he had created during his solitude. 

Grif coughed, trying to clear his lungs of foam. Eyes watering, he peered at the gold foil visors. It wasn't all of them. It was just Red Team's. So where were--

"Oh, no," Grif whimpered. "Please god no."

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://arirashkae.tumblr.com/post/164614144576/in-cervesio-felicitas)


End file.
